


Lets Go Home

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: AU, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>yoongi is supposed to be making sure namjoon leaves the studio before three am, but it's not really working out that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lets Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> previously posted at a defunct lj, now edited. have some more of my sugamon feels, in porn form this time!

“It's your turn, Yoongi, quit bitching.” Seokjin rolled his eyes and carefully worked around Yoongi's bouncing-in-frustration, protesting self. “Seriously. Just make sure he gets home before three. We have a gig tomorrow.”

“But I want to go home and go to bed too hyung, fuck, I've been here _all day._ ”

“People in hell want ice water,” Seokjin said, and Yoongi pouted, bottom lip sticking out while Seokjin tugged his hat on. The older man reached out to wobble that lip and grinned. “Like I said. Three. Make sure you're both home by then.”

“Fuck you, how am I supposed to get this asshole to come home,” Yoongi grumbled, flipping the bird at Seokjin's receding back. He was _tired._ They'd been up a long time and Jimin had been unbearable, irritable and frustrated and Jeongguk was just as bad, so tired he was past being sleepy, stumbling into doorframes and blinking slowly enough it was easy to believe that he was falling asleep for a single second at a time. Never mind Hoseok and Taehyung. Shit. Yoongi threw himself onto the couch and flung his arm over his eyes. Maybe he could sleep while Namjoon worked himself to death.

...Or not.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but suddenly there were cold fingers on his belly and he screeched, jerking up and nearly elbowing Namjoon, who was laughing deeply, in the head.

“Fuck _off,_ ” Yoongi grumbled, turning onto his stomach and away from the chair where Namjoon sat, elbows on his knees, smiling down at him. “I'm trying to sleep here.”

“I can see that,” Namjoon replied. Then there was silence for a few minutes and Yoongi started to drift off again, his breathing slow and deep. With his head pushed down against his chest he was _so close_ to falling back asleep when he felt a pair of fat lips on the back of his neck. Any other time it would have been pleasant; the two of them were known to have the occasional tryst, just like the rest of their crew. None of them could keep their hands off one another for long but he was _tired_ and he wanted to _sleep._

“Yah, Kim Namjoon,” he snarled in warning, bracing one hand on the back of the couch so he could fling himself around and punch Namjoon in the dick for interrupting what precious little rest he could catch this close to a competition. But there was a hand on his hip and he couldn't get the leverage to twist around to do the actual punching. Damn him.

“Min Yoongi,” Namjoon replied, scraping the flats of his teeth against Yoongi's hairline.

“I am trying to _sleep,_ you horny fucking barbarian. Go get yourself off.”

“But we're the only ones here hyung,” Namjoon said, his cold hand tickling under Yoongi's shirt to grip his hip more firmly. Yoongi wriggled, a scowl twisting his face.

“I'm _tired._ ”

“Getting off will help you sleep.”

Yoongi gave a bark of laughter, pressing his other hand to the couch in an attempt to sit up when Namjoon's lips found his ear, his beanie nosed aside to give the younger man every possible advantage he could have over Yoongi, who had very few weaknesses. “You are such a piece of shit.”

“So you keep saying,” Namjoon said. “But you're not telling me to stop.”

“Cos it feels good you fucktrumpet, you know it does,” Yoongi replied, letting himself relax into the couch and not protesting too much when Namjoon pulled off his beanie, pushed his shirt and hoodie up around his shoulders then over his head, effectively trapping his arms in the cloth. “Hey,” Yoongi muttered in protest. Namjoon yanked him back onto his stomach, knelt over his thighs and ran cold fingers down Yoongi's warm, bare back. “ _Hey._ ”

“What,” Namjoon asked, bending to let his lips trail where his fingers had been. Yoongi shuddered violently at the mouth so close to the base of his back, just to the sides of his knobby spine. “Were you saying something, hyung?”

“I'm tired,” he protested weakly, his fingers clenched in the sleeves of his clothes, his head cradled by the back of his hoodie, stretched between his upper arms as he laid there, twisted to expose his shoulders but keep the tops of his thighs on the cushions. His cock was stirring and he pressed his hips down into the couch. “Seriously, Namjoon--”

“Let me help you get to sleep then,” Namjoon murmured against the skin of Yoongi's hip, turning his body over. Yoongi hated it when he did that. He knew Yoongi's one weak spot and he exploited it and it wasn't _fair._

“Promise me we'll go home on time,” Yoongi said, twisting his neck to look at Namjoon over his shoulder, to see where Namjoon's fingers were in the process of pulling his jeans and briefs down his hips.

“I promise I'll try,” he said. Yoongi nodded. That was probably as good as it got. He couldn't bring himself to care as much as he had a few minutes before, not with Namjoon yanking his clothes down and turning him over onto his back. Yoongi worked his head around his clothes and let his arms stretch over the edge of the couch, his head supported by his shirts as Namjoon shoved his jeans to the floor, his briefs following in short order.

“Wait,” Yoongi jerked when Namjoon, still clothed, spread his bare legs and moved between them. “Wait, Namjoon I don't have—”

“I know,” he replied, bending to wrap his tongue around one nipple. Yoongi bit into his lip and groaned. It almost felt disgusting, wet squirming on his chest, warm and soft but it made his gut tense and Namjoon shifted his weight more insistently between his legs and he could hardly bring himself to protest. Not even when Namjoon's teeth started to rub and tug and almost gnaw, the denim of his jeans rubbing the insides of Yoongi's thighs, his belt buckle an uncomfortable pressure on the base of Yoongi's cock.

“Fuck, you know I hate that—”

“You sure?” Namjoon grinned up at him and for a moment Yoongi hated him, because it wasn't fair that he could be played like a keyboard, that Namjoon knew all the places that made him squirm, all the words that made him crumble under his advances. They'd known one another long enough that this was just as familiar to them as a fist fight was. “It doesn't feel good?” His tongue swiped across the raw and sensitive skin and Yoongi's hips twitched up, his torso curling, fingers balled into fists around his sleeves.

“I hate you,” he hissed, and Namjoon laughed, he fucking _laughed._

“Sure you do,” he said. A moment later he was yanking Yoongi up, reaching to unbuckle his own belt. “You're gonna hate me more in a minute.” He pulled the older man onto the floor to lay him on his back, leaning over his body, backlit by the fluorescents. Shit, he was beautiful, just like he always was and for a moment Yoongi was breathless. It was so rare that Namjoon took charge of their sexual encounters, it was usually Yoongi grabbing at Namjoon's hair, straddling his hips, rubbing himself shamelessly while Namjoon groaned and tipped his head back to expose his beautiful neck—

Namjoon's body settled between Yoongi's legs and he shuddered.

“Namjoon I told you I don't have—”

“I _know,_ ” Namjoon repeated, bending over Yoongi, dropping kisses to his bare neck. Yoongi shivered violently. Namjoon was taller, and broader than he was but his warm weight was comfortable, half on top of him while one of his hands grabbed his hips. _Oh,_ Yoongi realized belatedly. Namjoon was straddling his thighs, and the hand on his hip shifted, went for his cock instead.

“Namjoo—”

“Shhh,” Namjoon murmured, bending his legs and back to get as close to Yoongi as possible. “Shh, you have to be quiet. We might not be the only people here, huh?” His belly pulled tighter, his hips stuttered. “I know you like being watched, hyung, but I don't think you want anyone coming in here to check on us and seeing you like this,” _like this,_ pinned and blushed, nipples raw and pink. “What would they _think?_ ”

Damn Namjoon, Yoongi thought distantly. The pleasure between his legs, fingers and hot skin and the weight on top of him was completely secondary to the attention at his ear, Namjoon's voice rasping.

“I wish I'd brought lube,” he said, even though they never fucked in the work room. The fantasy was pleasant enough. “I'd fuck you till you were screaming. I didn't even lock the door, hyung,” Yoongi groaned, pushed his hips up into the warm hand holding his length. He felt, more than heard, Namjoon smirking against his ear. “You're such an exhibitionist. Is that why you wore those jeans? The ones with the holes in them, all the way up your thighs?”

Aah, those jeans. The ones Namjoon had barely bothered to pull down around Yoongi's thighs before fucking him against the wall in the bathroom, one hand clapped over his mouth, the other squeezing his dick until it hurt. He liked those pants. He liked what they did to Namjoon.

“Tell me, hyung,” Namjoon stopped moving on top of Yoongi. He whined and wiggled, pushed his hips up and was denied contact, one of Namjoon's forearms braced across his hips. “Tell me why you wore those jeans.”

“God damn it Kim Namjoon—”

“Tell me, hyung,” he said, moving further down Yoongi's body, tongue just barely brushing the slick tip of his cock as it twitched at the visual. Agitation overflowed his brain.

“I wore them so you'd fuck me unconscious, you fucking fuckstick,” Yoongi snarled, jerking his hips up and laughing with he gagged Namjoon. “Christ. Isn't it obvious? Woah—”

He was being spun, on his knees with his belly against the couch. Namjoon's breathing was heavy above him, and Yoongi wiggled, looking forward to... Whatever it was Namjoon was going to do. It was good, when he was riled up. It was always good when he got pissed, hard and deep and unforgiving.

But without lube Namjoon just settled his cock against Yoongi's backside and thrust between his cheeks, skin to skin, the tip of his dick slipping over Yoongi's ass with every lazy movement of Namjoon's hips. It was infuriating.

“Fuck, Namjoon, just— just _fuck_ me,” he snarled, too tangled in his shirts to be able to reach back and try to force him into action. Instead he had to suffer through Namjoon's cock pressing, slick with precum against him— it was torture, because it tricked him into thinking Namjoon was actually going to fuck him. Bastard. “Don't be a fucking asshole!”

“Can't,” he said, taking his length in one hand and stroking himself slow, tip wet against Yoongi, who shuddered beneath him. “But you've cum from this before, right hyung? You like this. Being teased.”

“Not that much,” Yoongi gasped out, trying to push back, finding himself unable. “Nam _joon._ ”

“Can't, hyung,” he reminded, and Yoongi wanted to throttle him.

“I don't care if there's no lube god _fucking_ damn it Kim Namjoon _fuck me._ ”

“No,” he replied simply, and Yoongi growled in protest, trying to move himself, pushing back against Namjoon, who didn't move away. “I'm not gonna fuck you, hyung,” he said, an Yoongi heard spit, felt fingers and Namjoon's rumbling laughter. “But you can fuck yourself.”

...Fuck.

“You better fucking let us go home after this you fucking piece of shit,” Yoongi fought to get his arms situated, one to brace his weight and the other to reach back and hold one cheek out of the way as he rocked back and forth, teasing himself on the tip of Namjoon's cock, not slick enough to press in but close, so close. He moved and whined, thrusting his hips forward into nothing and back onto Namjoon's tip, panting, red hair sticking to his forehead.

“You better try harder, hyung,” Namjoon purred. “I wanna feel you cum on my dick.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi moved harder, felt precum and saliva and Namjoon's tip pressing so close, almost in, almost—

The hand holding Yoongi's weight moved to stroke himself instead, fingers on his ballsac and head rubbing against his wrist. He panted, tongue resting on his bottom lip as he lost himself in the feeling, the knowledge that Namjoon was still mostly dressed, the way he refused to do any work but instead made Yoongi do it all, how his laugh echoed deep in Yoongi's ribcage and he could barely stand it, how terrible and fucking fantastic it made him feel. It felt good to be at Namjoon's mercy, almost as good as it felt when Namjoon was pinned under him. The couch was itchy against his bare chest and cheek, his breath was short and uneven.

“That's it, hyung, that's— almost, hyung, fuck I can see it, can see you clench up, jesus christ—” Namjoon must have been close to orgasm. He only started talking filth when he was too close for comfort. Yoongi moaned and gripped his own sac tight, came in hot spurts on his wrist and he was frantic, trying to reach back to rub his hand against Namjoon's length but the younger man was already thrusting down into his wrist and palm and moving back up to push his tip inside, pushing hard and listening to Yoongi as he made a whore of himself, panting and bucking, arm limp between his legs. Namjoon was hissing for breath, and Yoongi groaned, pressing his face into the couch.

“You are such a slut,” he accused, yanking Yoongi further up the couch so his hips were on the edge. “Namjoon,” Yoongi said, voice reedy. “Shit, we don't even have lube—”

“I _know,_ ” Namjoon repeated, holding Yoongi's right leg under the knee and lifting. Yoongi was left confused for a moment, bewildered until the warm weight of Namjoon's cock was slipped between his thighs and his leg was let down, pressed close and tight together.

“Jesus,” Yoongi complained. “What are you, twelve? Couldn't you just let me suck you off, it'll be faster, I want to go _ho_ —hey!”

Namjoon's hand reached around, fingertips on the tip of Yoongi's oversensitive cock and rubbing. “Don't act like such a bitch,” he murmured, his teeth against Yoongi's neck as he rocked his hips. “And I won't have to treat you like one. Besides,” he gave one slow roll of his hips and Yoongi was embarrassed to find the sweat between his legs was more than enough to make the slide easy. “I like it this way.”

“Fuck _you,_ ” Yoongi hissed, shivering when Namjoon shoved their bodies together. With his legs pressed tight together inside of Namjoons, and his body forced against the couch he felt breathless, his left hand reaching to hold Namjoon's waist. The younger man was fucking against him, cock thrusting between his thighs and his lips were against Yoongi's shoulders, one hand on his dick, the other cupped around his throat to keep him from suffocating himself in the cushions.

It was embarrassing. Namjoon's dick between his thighs, thrusting, leaving smears of precum to make the slide easier. Yoongi could feel the fat head of his dick, tried to squeeze his thighs tighter when Namjoon pulled back and trembled when Namjoon's fingers kept rubbing his tip, just under the crown, right where Yoongi was sensitive. He felt like a teenager again, breathless, trying to be quiet because the door was unlocked and even if Namjoon thought they were the last people here—

“Oh fuck hyung, Yoongi, ah—” Namjoon's hips moved fast, the clap of their skin together the loudest thing in the room as he came, spilling between Yoongi's thighs, tip peeking through just enough to ooze cum where Yoongi's legs were pressed together.

Shit.

“Shit,” Namjoon echoed, sucking soft at Yoongi's neck, sitting back to kneel and bringing Yoongi with him, still cupping his throat as he tipped his head back onto his shoulder. He turned his head and Yoongi kissed his mouth, shivering at the hands pressed to his chest, sliding down his hips, rubbing the tops of his thighs. “God I love fucking you.”

“Didn't even fuck me,” Yoongi protested. “What the fuck am I, some blow-up doll.” He sulked for a moment, until Namjoon kissed his cheeks and lips, carefully letting him up. “Fuck off. Lemme get wiped off so we can leave.”

“Want me to clean you up?” Namjoon asked, and Yoongi scowled, sitting back on his hands and looking down at where Namjoon was kneeling against his legs, smiling up at him. “Come on, hyung, open your legs for me. I'll clean you up if you let me take a picture.”

“What the _fuck_ is your problem,” Yoongi flushed, though he did just that. Opened his legs and shivered when Namjoon pulled out his phone to snap a photo of his open thighs, the cum on his belly, his half-hard dick. They had more photos of one another in compromising positions than any of them cared to admit. God forbid something happen to their phones. “Fucking pervert.”

“You love it,” Namjoon reminded, and Yoongi had to admit that was true as his younger friend's tongue started at his thighs and worked up, licking away the mess he'd made. By the time he'd reached Yoongi's soft stomach he was hard, stroking himself lazily, licking his lips. “Come on, hyung,” Namjoon grinned, licking at the tip of Yoongi's length. “Cum on my mouth, I know you love it.”

God, he did, too.

Yoongi got himself off in short, fast strokes, and groaned as he watched Namjoon press close to catch his load on his mouth and cheek, throwing his head back at the sight. Shit. _Fuck._ “God, Joonah,” he hissed, grunting when Namjoon's mouth wrapped around his dick just to suck him clean. “God.”

“Come on,” he said when he pulled away. “Come on, lets go home. Project can wait till tomorrow.”

“You're awfully fucking optimistic, thinking I'm gonna be able to fucking walk right now,” Yoongi said, and Namjoon laughed, kissing one nipple.

“I'm sure I can get you home.”

 


End file.
